Three Days In the Life of Rodney McKay
by T'Pring
Summary: Rodney McKay was an ambitious man, but his ambitions were of the intellectual variety. He could care less about money as long as there were plenty of people around telling him he was the smartest guy in the room. He had that title neatly wrapped up (whenever Sam wasn't on base) until a certain John Sheppard sauntered into the Antarctic Base.


**The day Rodney McKay knew John Sheppard was smart**

Rodney McKay was an ambitious man, but his ambitions were of the intellectual variety. He could care less about money as long as there were plenty of people around telling him he was the smartest guy in the room. The money he did care about was the kind that got him equipment and minions to do the stuff he didn't like to do. For a while, the Stargate Program had been perfect – he was usually the smartest guy in the room, and it was well funded. He rose rapidly in the scientific ranks and was sure he'd soon be posted at the SGC itself where the real science happened.

And then he'd hit the blond wall.

Samantha Carter, it turned out, was just nearly as smart as Rodney and the fact galled him. To add insult to injury, all of her "experience" put him at a disadvantage. He didn't deal well with people he couldn't intimidate intellectually. They disrupted his modus operandi and even while a part of him recognized it as petty and pathetic, his only coping mechanism was belligerence and stubbornness.

When Teal'c was trapped in the Stargate's buffer, Sam had been right and Rodney had not only been wrong, he'd been an ass. And he'd spent months in Russia because of it. When he'd finally been released from exile, he'd jumped at the chance to work with Dr. Weir at the Antarctic Outpost because it kept him from having to go back to the SGC. Secretly, he respected Carter a great deal, and he'd internalized the lesson that experience mattered. He desperately wanted to become _the_ expert on Ancient technology so he'd never be in a position to have to compete with Sam Carter again.

Rodney still wasn't sure if it was Siberia or the week he spent "vacationing" at his home, er apartment, that convinced him to go on the Atlantis expedition a year later. If you asked, he'd tell you – in great detail – how his decision was based on the achievements for science he hoped to make on behalf of mankind. That the personal risk factors were mitigated by the benefit of knowledge he alone could tease out of the discovery. Of his respect for Dr. Elizabeth Weir and, so on and so forth.

The truth was, Rodney decided to join the one-way, sure to be suicide mission to another galaxy full of man-eating intelligent life forms (he was actually surprised that part turned out to be true) because there just wasn't anything on Earth that was interesting any more. They could only pull so much out of the bits of technology the Ancients had left behind in Antarctica. Siberia convinced him that the SGC wasn't his optimal career path, and that painful, god-awful boring week at a-home-that-wasn't-a-home convinced him that the private sector held even less promise of fame, fortune and Nobel prizes than the SGC.

Most importantly, he was certain to be the smartest guy in the room – whichever room the intergalactic wormhole decided to spit the expedition out into. Until Major John Sheppard sat in the Ancient chair and it came to life like he'd never seen before.

"Think about where we are in the solar system," he'd told the Major, wondering if the man had any clue what he was asking. Did these Army-types even know the Earth orbited around the sun?

When a breathtakingly beautiful image of the sun and all of its satellites, complete with perfectly scaled golden orbital trails, glowed into being above their heads, Rodney fought a surge of jealousy the likes of which he hadn't felt since his dad had given his sister a copy of the Feynman lectures and told him that Jeanie's gift was in physics and that Rodney was more suited to theoretical math. (That moment was, in part, why Rodney had completed his first doctorate in astrophysics, out of spite. The fact that his 2nd doctorate – and most of his work since – was in math and programming – i.e. programming stone-age-by-comparison Earth technology to interface with Ancient technology - failed to impress any irony upon him.)

Rodney had only survived that first excruciating day by repeating over and over the words he'd said to Elizabeth: "It's not advanced. It's a random characteristic" as he put the chair, via the Major, through a set of test scenarios he'd only imagined being able to complete.

Despite his mantra, there were warning signs. Major Sheppard didn't seem challenged by the complicated tasks Rodney was setting to run his interface programs through its paces. If anything, Sheppard seemed bored.

"Access the targeting program, then select a ground-based target," he said, no longer having to coach the Major through the "think about then identify then select" routine. He'd been able to use normal instructions after the first ten minutes as the Major had adapted to the Ancient filing system's interface remarkably quickly.

The visual display over the chair flickered and glowed, but Rodney was concentrating on the data flowing over his screen. When he glanced up to begin his next instructions, he pulled a double-take.

"Got something against Baltimore, have you?" he asked, realizing that the Major's chosen ground-based target wasn't a Middle Eastern warlord's compound, but a city block in the middle of the down-town district. The image vanished immediately and the Major didn't reply, so Rodney just went on to his next instruction.

After two hours, the Major was chuffing under his breath with each new test and squirming in the chair. After a particularly long gap between instructions during which Rodney was enthusiastically debugging code that had been fighting him for weeks, he looked up and saw the display flashing with selection after selection as the Major went ransacking through the Ancient database.

"What are you doing? Stop that!" Rodney bellowed, diving for the interface monitor that was trying to keep up with the Major's antics. Sheppard didn't stop and Rodney could almost hear the man's shrug in his laconic reply.

"I'm bored. Just looking around to see if these Ancient guys left any tunes laying around."

Rodney was too stunned by what he was seeing to reply for a long moment. Sheppard was systematically searching the database and adding mental comments as he went that Rodney's interfaces translated into peculiarly Sheppard-esqe English: "Weapons stuff. Power grid. Sciency physics stuff. Cool! Spaceships! Environmental controls – that McKay guy needs to really check this folder out. It's freakin' cold in here. Map of the Stargate network – wonder what that is." And so on.

It had taken McKay three weeks to train that sgt. whats-his-name, _Markham?_ , to navigate the three-dimensional file structure and find even the top level directory from the chair. Most of what they'd learned was due to McKay's interfaces.

"Stop!" McKay finally stuttered out again. "I mean, that's all for now. You can go."

"Ok," Sheppard replied, just as casually, and the display winked off with a pop. The chair slowly shushed into its upright position. When the Major hopped out and made as if to wander away without so much as a goodbye, Rodney felt inexplicably annoyed.

"If you broke anything, I'm going to report it to General O'Neill," he snapped.

Sheppard just waved over his shoulder. "I turned on the safeties for all of those drone things. Doctor Trigger-happy would have detonated the whole load under your butts if he'd worked just a little harder at it."

And with that he left, leaving Rodney to splutter.

Slapping angrily at his keyboard and muttering, Rodney called up the drone interface and dug into some folders he hadn't visited before. He grew so immersed, he didn't notice that the shifts were changing around him and the crew was dimming the lights for night-mode.

An hour later, he felt a shudder tickle his spine. "I'll be damned."

* * *

 **The Day Rodney McKay Learned John Sheppard was Brave.**

Rodney kept an eye on the Major from then on. He was horribly torn when he learned that Sheppard had been invited to join the Atlantis expedition. On the one hand, even Rodney could admit they needed someone as adept with the Ancient gene as the Major seemed to be. On the other, the Major was a complete unknown variable. Elizabeth seemed to be fond of him. The other soldiers whispered behind his back.

On the day they made the connection to Atlantis and threw their collective butts into destiny, Rodney was watching Sheppard closely. The Major had never been to so much as another planet, much less another galaxy. Rodney had seen even seasoned travelers sharing nervous looks at the briefings. He found himself half wishing that Sheppard would step out of the line when Elizabeth offered her "last chance to turn back". (Or was he wishing that for himself?)

Instead, Sheppard approached the gate with Ford, ducked his chin and plunged into the event horizon like he was strolling into a spring shower. When it was Rodney's turn and the full impact of the one-way journey flushed his chest with terror, it was, outrageously, the image of Sheppard disappearing into complete uncertainty that moved Rodney's foot that last step. No ancient-gene wielding Air Force flyboy with a sketchy resume was going to stroll around Ancient mecca without Rodney to keep an eye on him.

Keep an eye on him he did. In their first hours on Atlantis (and wow! Atlantis!) Sheppard outsmarted a hive full of Wraith, outflew a dozen darts in an Ancient spaceship with that gene of his, and assumed command of the expedition's soldier-types. Rodney took full credit for introducing the Major to the jumpers, but found it hard to claim more glory than that.

As their early days on Atlantis unfolded, evidence of Sheppard's intelligence continued to surface, though he seemed uninterested in challenging Rodney in that space. By contrast, Rodney and that Czech physicist Zelenka had already gotten into several verbal sparring matches. Not only did Zelenka's desperate attempts at debate prove quite enjoyable (Zelenka was really quite an accomplished scientist) but also proved that he cared what Rodney thought about him.

Sheppard's response when Rodney did resort to his usual coping mechanism of belligerence and stubbornness in an attempt to assert his position as smartest guy in the room was baffling. Instead of anger or entertaining one-upmanship, Sheppard would stare, smirk, then deflect.

" _Even with the six symbols Lieutenant Ford provided there are still hundreds of permutations."_

" _Seven hundred and twenty."_

" _Yes. I knew that of course. I'm just surprised you did."_

Stare. Smirk. _"Take away the coordinates you can't get a lock on, and that's your one. When you find it, send a M.A.L.P."_

Rodney had learned in that encounter that Sheppard couldn't be taken by surprise. He'd known the (rudimentary) math, he just hadn't cared how hard the job was.

" _I say we open up the tower on the North Pier and put the Athosians there. They'd have plenty of space. And the kids wouldn't be underfoot. All. The. Time."_

" _I won't put anyone in a building we haven't manually cleared, McKay."_

" _I've told you, there's nothing there but living spaces full of 10,000 year old couches and moldy mattresses."_

" _Nothing that you can see on the sensors."_

" _Exactly. We've scanned the whole city for every possible life sign, radiation and energy signature. Just what exactly do you think a couple of jarheads with flashlights and an exaggerated sense of importance are going to find that the most advanced technology known to mankind can't?"_

Stare. Smirk. _"Hibernating Wraith."_

Sheppard had walked out before Rodney could muster a retort. And despite his (belated) deduction that it would be impossible for Wraith to survive in the city for 10,000 years, he didn't argue with Sheppard any more about visual inspections of new buildings.

Elizabeth was gradually leaning on Sheppard more and more for counsel as the days went by. Even though they had their rocky moments, Rodney could see her growing to trust him in a way that superseded mere smarts. Rodney began to feel a twinge of jealousy he'd only felt before in the presence of Sam Carter.

Since Rodney had never mastered the social skill of mutual respect, he could only assume that her confidence in the Major stemmed from his abilities with the Ancient Gene. When Carson had mentioned that he wanted to test his ATA gene therapy, Rodney had volunteered immediately. Begged, actually. And so had followed the debacle of the Ancient personal shield. Glee at being invulnerable had evaporated into humiliation. Not only had Rodney been unable to turn it off, he'd fainted in front of his colleagues.

To add insult to injury, the damn thing had fallen off just as Sheppard – oh so casually – made the heroic offer to bait the trap that would re-capture the dark entity. "I'll do it," he'd said, like he was offering to pick up milk from the grocery. Rodney's heart was pounding at the mere thought of standing across an Ancient mousetrap from the thing that had turned Ford crispy.

It was in that moment, in Elizabeth's smirk as Rodney had bolted out of the room to find a sandwich, that he began to think that there was more to Sheppard than an ancient gene and a slightly higher than average (for a normal human) IQ. Perhaps, well, bravery had something to do with the man's successes and Elizabeth's admiration.

This concept was foremost on his mind when he decided to walk into the darkness that was engulfing the gateroom as it fed on a stalled naquada generator. Rodney managed to throw the generator through the wormhole and save the city. The accolades he received from Elizabeth and even Sheppard himself seemed to validate his working hypothesis: Bravery was a required quality for admiration. Rodney wasn't brave by inclination, but he'd spent his entire life studying human behavior from the outside. He could learn.

Rodney spent the next several days observing Sheppard for signs of bravery. In particular, he was determined to understand what exactly it implied and inferred. If he, Rodney, was to be perceived as brave, how much danger – exactly – did that mean he would have to undertake. Or offer to undertake at least.

Once interest in the darkness entity faded, city gossip turned to who Sheppard would choose for gate teams. Rumors seemed to indicate that he was planning to form several teams and lead one himself. The most vigorous speculation centered around who Sheppard would choose for his own team. According to the talk, Ford was a given and depending on who was talking, he'd either already accepted or had already turned down the offer.

Although he was above gossip and rumor-mongering, Rodney felt it his duty to stay abreast of the topic. As Sheppard's peer in leadership – well, leader of the civilian scientists anyway…the non-biological scientists – Rodney considered himself invested in the man's decisions about who would represent Atlantis in the Pegasus galaxy and who would be running around making friends or enemies.

He didn't know many of the soldiers personally, but there were rumors that indicated Sheppard intended to include scientists on some of the gate teams. That made sense to Rodney. They were tasked with finding ZPMs after all. So, when Sheppard sent him an email requesting a meeting, Rodney had already prepared a list of the scientists in his department that Rodney considered knowledgeable (and expendable) enough to troop around the galaxy looking for them.

He entered Sheppard's makeshift office, on time of course, to find the man hunched behind the desk, fiddling with something in his lap. Sheppard nodded a cursory acknowledgement, and continued to fiddle. Rodney waited. Then coughed politely. Then chuffed.

"I've got a few Nobel prizes to win and 10 new labs to open today, so if you really need to see me now, you could at least do me the courtesy of telling me what it is you..are..doing…" He'd meant to say "what you want" but Sheppard's sudden, vigorous motion behind his desk had distracted him. Rodney chuffed again and stepped around to see what Sheppard found so interesting.

"You're polishing a wraith gun?" Rodney chided.

"Not polishing. Making sure it's only got the one setting."

"One setting?"

"Stun. Those zat things they showed me on Earth could kill you. Just making sure."

"The Wraith need humans for food to survive. It would be illogical for them to develop weapons that would kill their prey before feeding."

"My uncle raised cattle and he carried a gun in case one of them charged when he was walking the pastures. Even food can be dangerous, McKay," Sheppard retorted mildly.

Rodney opened his mouth to argue, but Sheppard smacked the stunner down on his desktop and continued before Rodney could finish a deep enough breath.

"I want to talk you about being on a gate team."

Eager to prove that he was on top of the situation, Rodney flipped open the tablet he was carrying. "I've been anticipating this."

"You have?" Sheppard sounded skeptical.

"Of course. I've prepared several recommendations for you. Zelenka is an excellent candidate, but unfortunately he appears to be a fairly accomplished full stack programmer _and_ physicist and I need to keep him available here. Top of my list is Peterson. He's not only very adept at Ancient tech, he's had some offworld experience back at the SGC. You can also have Kavanagh. He's only a mediocre technician but I don't like him, so you can take him offworld as much as you want."

Sheppard's initial expression of surprise was sliding into amusement. "That's really generous of you."

"You're welcome. If you are looking more for the soft sciences – medicine and biology, that sort of thing – I recommend you talk to Carson."

"That's a good idea." Sheppard's tone was rapidly approaching sarcasm.

"Of course it's a good idea. So. How many teams are you forming and how many names do you need? I took the liberty of preparing recommendations for six potential gate team members. If you need more, I'll need another day or two."

Rodney looked at Sheppard, waiting for his answer, but Sheppard was just staring at him and chewing his lip. He tapped the stunner idly as he stared, as if trying to decide what to say.

"I could get it done tomorrow at the earliest," Rodney stammered when the silence grew awkward.

Sheppard rolled his eyes, then inexplicably chuckled. He blew out a fast breath, sat up straight in his chair, and spoke slowly like he was addressing a small child. "McKay. I want to talk to _you_ about being on a gate team."

Rodney froze. Shock must have been plastered all over his face because Sheppard's smirk grew wider. He leaned back in his chair, holding the stunner in both hands. In that moment, all Rodney could think about was the formula for bravery he'd only begun to develop and how joining a gate team was so far off the scale that he hadn't even considered the possibility.

Sheppard just smirked, stared, and waited for Rodney to say something.

"I… ahem. I don't know what to say. I hadn't really thought…about…" he stammered.

"Then think about it. But be quick. Elizabeth wants us to recon the planet with the hive ship as soon as possible." Sheppard shoved himself out of the chair and slapped Rodney on the back.

Then he did the thing that convinced him that Sheppard was either insane, or the bravest man he'd ever met. He handed the stunner to Rodney and said, "I want you on _my_ team."

* * *

 **The Time Rodney McKay Thought Maybe Sheppard Was His Friend and The Day He Was Sure**

Sheppard nearly didn't survive his new Gate Team's very first mission offworld. What wraith warriors, a wraith queen and a dozen darts hadn't managed in their first hours on Atlantis, a mindless insect and malfunctioning drive-pods nearly did.

Rodney fought claustrophobia, panic, and a near hypoglycemic coma and at the end of the longest 38 minutes of his life, stood staring over Sheppard's body as Carson performed the medical voodoo that would hopefully restart Sheppard's heart.

"Well done, Rodney," Elizabeth had said as the defibrillator whined and Sheppard's body lurched.

"We'll see," he'd replied. It was in that moment that Rodney's definition of success was radically re-written. He'd performed the nearly impossible feat of rerouting the jumper's controls to retract the stuck drive pods with nothing more than a rough place to start and an understanding of debugging technique. If it had been merely pride or even only his own life on the line, that accomplishment would have had him crowing his brilliance to anyone who'd listen – and everyone else, too. Instead, he couldn't care about any of it if his teammate still died.

The realization so disturbed him that he found himself back at Sheppard's bedside late that night, long after even Elizabeth had stopped hovering and gone to bed. Sheppard looked pale and a bit puffy and he, too seemed to be having trouble sleeping if the man's restless squirming was indicative.

"What do you want?" Sheppard asked, though he didn't bother to open his eyes.

"I've come to resign my position on the gate team." Rodney thought getting to the point was probably best.

"I do not accept your resignation. Good night, Rodney."

Rodney was so surprised that it took him another minute to formulate an answer. "I don't want to ever go through something like that, again," was what he came up with.

"I know you don't. No one would. If you did, I wouldn't want you on the team. Resignation not accepted." Sheppard just laid there, his eyes closed, looking uncomfortable. It was maddening.

"What if you had died?"

"Then Ford would probably be moving into my room about now. He likes the view better."

"I'm serious."

"So am I. There're no guarantees, here. We live or we die out there. My odds of living are better with you on the team. Resignation not accepted."

 _"Your_ odds!"

"Mine. Yours. Everyone's. We're all we've got, now. Every person on this expedition must perform at full capability or none of us get home. It's "One for All" or all are dead."

Rodney felt a flush of anger and Sheppard had played the wrong card. Rodney was no one's safety net. "I did not sign on to this expedition to get you out of trouble that you should know how to avoid. You're the military expert. The one who's supposed to 'do and die'. I'm here to learn the secrets of Atlantis in the safety of the galaxy's most secure facility. You are supposed to protect me. Not the other way around."

Sheppard's jaw had gone stiff and his eyes were now open and glittering through pain-squinched eyelids. There it was again. Stare. Smirk. Except this time there was no humor in the smirk and the coldness of it sent a shiver of fear through Rodney's spine.

"It bothers you that you care about other people, here." Sheppard stated with cold assurance, completely missing the point. Or maybe he got the point more than Rodney was admitting.

"That is completely beyond…" Rodney started angrily, but Sheppard cut across his denial.

"So… _don't_ care. If self-preservation is the only motive you can muster, so be it. Don't stay on the team for me or to help the expedition. Do it to save your own sorry ass. No one else on that jumper could have done what you did today. And if you'd been sitting here on Atlantis twiddling your thumbs, that jumper would have been chopped in half, sent through the wormhole in pieces and exploded in the gate room. I'd be dead, but so would you and probably Elizabeth and half the technicians."

Sheppard closed his eyes, jammed his hands under his arms and made a good show of pretending to go to sleep.

"There's no reason to assume the jumper would have exploded."

Sheppard just waved him off with an impatient flap of the hand and Rodney left in an angry huff. Sheppard was so wrong it wasn't worth even mental argument. He _didn't_ care. Rodney had never cared about anyone (except maybe Jeanie and his father if he didn't include "like" in the definition of "care".) That wasn't why he'd resigned. He'd resigned because…he couldn't stand watching someone he…knew…die… Damn!

At least he could prove Sheppard wrong about the jumper. To gain even a small sense of victory in the argument, Rodney went straight to the jumper bay and spent the next six hours poking through the onboard schematics and running scenarios. Just as the sky outside the bay's skylights was turning a pale morning purple, his tablet beeped to indicate it was finished crunching the numbers. He read them over. He scrolled back through his code to check his work, then against all logic, he read them again. A familiar shudder tickled his spine.

"I'll be damned."

Rodney didn't try to resign again and Sheppard never brought up the conversation. Rodney convinced himself that the Major had been drugged on pain killers and probably didn't even remember their midnight chat.

But Rodney remembered, and he took Sheppard's advice to heart. He went on missions but he was careful to maintain a narcissistic approach. He kept his motivations tied to the work and his co-workers at a distance. It was easy with Teyla and Ford. They were so different that "distance" was almost on the close side of the scale. Elizabeth was friendly with everyone, so while it was easy to feel comfortable around her, it was also easy to not take her warmth personally.

Sheppard, however, was a different matter. No matter how hard he tried, (and he tried really hard) Rodney simply couldn't bully the man, intellectually or in any other way. For every snap, Sheppard had a smirk and a comeback. For every accomplishment that Rodney would typically enjoy rubbing in, Sheppard had a quiet word of thanks that efficiently disarmed bragging.

They got into and out of trouble so many times that even Rodney was having trouble keeping score. When they took on the 10,000 year old cannibal Wraith, Rodney began to get uncomfortable again. The whole experience disturbed him greatly and what bothered him most was that, while he was saddened and troubled by Abrams' and especially Gaul's death, it was Sheppard's close call that frightened him most.

He spent a long, agonizing 14 hours on the jumper ride home feeling overwhelming guilt. How could one life be more important than another? Why did he feel sick to his stomach at the memory of the wraith flinging Sheppard across the sand when, by all human standards, he should be more bothered by Gaul's grisly end? In the 13th hour of sleep-deprived honesty, Rodney could admit that Gaul's sacrifice had set him free to help Sheppard, and Sheppard was the one Rodney had wanted to help. (Not that Sheppard had _really_ needed it.)

It was in that hour, as he glanced surreptitiously at a squirming and raspy-breathed Sheppard in the jumper's co-pilot seat next to him that Rodney McKay wondered something he'd never wondered about anyone else before. Could it possibly be that Sheppard was… his friend?

* * *

"Where." CRACK "Is." CRACK "Atlantis?"

Rodney closed his eyes and tried every mental technique he knew to block out the horror unfolding before his eyes. Cold metal bit into his wrists that were already bruised and bloodied from the shackles that bound them together and to his ankles.

"You have short-term memory loss buddy? I already told you before thatAtlantis was destroyed by the wraith a month ago."

Sheppard's growl was still cocky, still convincing except for the faint quiver in the volume and hitch of the breath.

"I want the address."

"Sure. It'll dump you out into the bottom of the ocean if you even make a connection at all, so go for it. Alpha, beta, gamma…" CRACK.

Their tormentor's whip lapped across Sheppard's back, again, and the interrogator turned his back and left the cell, leaving them alone again. It had been the same thing for the past six hours. Every hour, on the hour, the interrogator would enter, zero in on Sheppard and ask him for the address three times. Then he would leave.

The chains that snaked from ankles to wrists to ceiling loosened as they had the previous five times and released his arms from where they'd hung above his head. Teyla and Sheppard's chains also dropped, but this time, Sheppard also sank to his knees, as if the chain had been the only thing keeping him standing.

"Colonel," Teyla exclaimed softly and shuffled closer, crouching beside him and reaching out without touching his bloodied back and shoulders. Rodney still couldn't get used to the Major's new name.

"I'm…OK," he grunted. "Just need to rest." And he made good on the words by sagging slowly onto his side to rest his head on the slimy floor.

"Is he passed out? Is he alright? Can that whip kill him?" Rodney babbled, looking down at Teyla.

"He is resting," she confirmed with a gentle touch at his throat. She folded herself onto the floor, her own chains clanking as she settled into watchfulness.

Rodney's terror flared into a burst of restless energy. He jangled as he paced their small stone cell. As before, he discovered no secret exits, weak stones, or invisible unlocked windows. Damp boulders and a strong smell of mold mixed with blood saturated the cold space. He spent some time trying to glare a hole through the guard's head that was stationed outside their door, just visible through the small barred opening in the door. The guard never turned his head.

He next tried tugging on the chains that snaked through a stone hole in the ceiling, testing the give for signs of weakness in whatever mechanism pulled the ends taught during "visits".

"Sit down, McKay."

Rodney whirled to find Sheppard pushing himself upright.

"You just don't want me to make you look bad, lounging around taking naps while I'm working on getting us out of here." The jab was hardly fair - Sheppard so far had taken all of the abuse - but Rodney was frightened which brought out the belligerent and stubborn in him.

Sheppard raised an eyebrow and Rodney gulped. Stare, smirk. "We'll get out of here. I got a mayday off before they grabbed the radios. Lorne will get us out."

It was in that moment that Rodney, _finally_ , realized why Sheppard was so good at re-directing him: He always seemed to know what Rodney was thinking. He was the only person Rodney had ever encountered that responded to Rodney's _meaning_ rather than reacting to his words. The flash of insight was so surprising, and Rodney was so desperate for something to distract himself from the fear of interrogators with whips, that he dropped to one knee to study Sheppard's face.

Sheppard returned the scrutiny with haggard amusement.

"Do you really believe that?" Rodney demanded.

"Rodney!" Teyla scolded. "We must keep hope. Giving in to defeat will embolden our captors."

Sheppard grinned slightly. "What she said."

But Rodney shook his head rejecting the platitudes and military hero mumbo-jumbo. "Do you believe it?" he repeated, slowly and deadly serious. Sheppard's expression flickered surprise then understanding.

"Rodney. Lorne will get us. I'm 100% positive that I made clear radio contact with Walker at the Stargate before our friends here decided that they'd rather sell information to Kolya than corn to us."

"But, how long will it take?" Rodney was, in part, setting a trap. He found himself unsurprised when Sheppard smirked again and passed the test.

"I'll be fine, McKay. Here's the thing – I don't have to worry about breaking because I'm _100% positive_ we'll get out of here. Torture only works when the subject believes that the only way for the abuse to stop is by giving up information. I know I'll get out, so I also _know_ I don't have to give up information to make it stop."

Even Teyla had the good sense to look disturbed at Sheppard's frank analysis of his own torture. Sheppard twisted uncomfortably. "That doesn't make it feel any better," he admitted.

Anger abruptly fled and Rodney was just left with a kind of numb horror. He didn't know if he could believe hard enough to _know_ in the same way Sheppard did.

"It doesn't make it any easier to watch, either" Rodney muttered and then wondered why Sheppard looked a little bit guilty at the comment.

Time passed, Teyla fussed over Sheppard's wounds. Multiple welts across his back and shoulders could be seen through the torn fabric of his black t-shirt. A couple were oozing, but only a couple. The interrogator seemed to be playing a long game and clearly didn't want Sheppard bleeding out or passing out too soon.

Panic began to creep into Rodney's chest as time crawled towards the hour. When the ceiling groaned and the chains began to crank into the hole, pulling their hands over their heads to just shy of dangling, Rodney felt his heart racing and sweat beading on his forehead. He couldn't quite decide if he'd rather die of a heart attack.

Sheppard's expression was resigned. Teyla looked fierce, but as the shortest, she was pulled highest, barely able to touch the ground, so the impression was dampened somewhat.

The door squealed and Rodney slammed his eyes closed so he wouldn't see the interrogator enter. It was far too impressive an entrance.

"Where is Atlantis," the Interrogator began as he'd done the past six times. As in the six times before, Sheppard answered first and swiftly.

"In pieces, asshole. We blew up our own city to keep it from the Wraith. What makes you think I'm going to tell you anything else useful just because you've got that sex toy and a bad attitude?"

Rodney cringed. _If he'd just shut up, maybe the guy wouldn't go for him every time_ **,** he thought. Then it hit him. Sheppard answered every time. Sheppard provoked every time. He was so surprised he opened his eyes. Sheppard was glaring at the interrogator even while leaning heavily on the chains that were pulling him upright.

The interrogator was almost translucent pale with blue-black dark hair. The combined effect made Rodney think of Vampires and zombies. That he was purely human was only more unnerving. He wore a rather simple black tunic and pants, but his boots were heavy leather and studded with iron nodules.

CRACK

Sheppard must have prepared himself, because he barely flinched at the lash across his already abused back. Rodney began to shudder, but this time he had Sheppard's words to buoy him. _Help is coming. It will stop. I know it will stop…_

CRACK

The second lash came as a surprise to Rodney and apparently Sheppard, too, who gave a harsh yelp.

"What makes me think you'll talk _is_ this toy." The interrogator cracked it against the ground for effect.

"It's been working so well," Sheppard scoffed.

"It hasn't," the interrogator agreed. "Because I've been using it incorrectly. You see, I've decided that hitting you is a waste of time. You've convinced me of that." The interrogator turned and took a step closer to Rodney. "I'm going to try it out on this one."

Rodney's legs turned to jelly and he could feel the blood draining from his face. "I… I won't talk either," he spluttered, grabbing for anything that sounded at least not pathetic. The whip cracked against the floor again and Rodney flinched.

"I don't expect you to talk," the interrogator snarled.

"You don't?" Rodney squeaked in surprise.

"Or rather, I won't need you to talk. He will do all the talking for you both."

Rodney was genuinely puzzled. How would hitting him make Sheppard talk? He threw a look at Sheppard to share his confusion, but instead of arrogance or even amusement, Sheppard's face was plastered with terror.

"I think you've misunderstood the situation," Rodney heard himself say.

"I think not."

The lash caught Rodney across the back of his legs, just above his knees. It didn't really hurt _that_ bad, but Rodney was scared and mad and confused so he yelled loud and long.

The next minute was a blur of motion and chaos. Sheppard hauled on the chains holding him up, swung forward and kicked the interrogator in the head. The man reeled, cursed, then swung at Sheppard with the whip.

Sheppard hauled again, kicked and jerked the whip out of the man's hand when it wrapped around his ankle. Infuriated, the man rushed and got his shoulder into Sheppard's chest before he could get his knees up again. John groaned a "whuff" of impact, then yelled when the charge yanked on his shoulders and dug manacles into tender wrists.

Teyla followed Sheppard's example and swung her own feet into the interrogator's shoulder to shove him away. But in the scramble, he got his hands around the whip again and struck out. The tip caught Sheppard across the cheek, instantly raising a vicious welt. He yelled another curse, this one sounding more desperate.

Pleased by the admission, the interrogator lashed out again and again until Teyla was screaming for him to stop and Rodney was writhing so hard at his own chains he felt blood trickle down his arm.

When the interrotagor at last got control of himself, John was hanging limply from the chains unconscious or close enough. Without another word, he left the room. The chains loosened a few moments later and both Rodney and Teyla lunged to catch Sheppard before he hit the ground.

Teyla lowered him gently on his side and Rodney gasped at the bloody mess of Sheppard's back. There were also welts across his cheek and neck and both arms.

"Teyla," Rodney began, overwhelmed by confusion.

"He is in shock. Rodney, we need to get him warm."

"Oh." Rodney had been about to ask _why did he do that?_ But the concern in Teyla's voice distracted him and they eventually came up with a way to pull Rodney's jacket over his head and lay it across Sheppard even though the chains were still looped through the arms. Rodney had to sit cross-legged at Sheppard's head and keep his hands still while Teyla tucked the coat around Sheppard's shoulders.

He forgot to keep track of the time and sat in deep contemplation as Teyla's efforts to revive Sheppard grew increasingly frantic. When the ceiling groaned, Rodney's shot a look of terror at Teyla. It had been another hour? What could they do to Sheppard now?

Teyla cursed and writhed as the chains inexorably drew her to her feet and then almost-dangling. Sheppard was a limp rag doll and his chin lolled on his chest as he was pulled up. Rodney's jacket flapped upside down above his head.

The key rattled in the door and Rodney closed his eyes. He couldn't bear another "entrance" by the interrogator or worse, if the man who'd beaten Sheppard senseless had lost his job.

"Crap!" was the first word Rodney heard, then "Get that damn key in here!"

Lorne?

Rodney opened his eyes and almost fainted in relief as not only Lorne, but no fewer than four Atlantis soldiers burst through the cell door, heavily armed and looking ticked off.

"The door locks are all connected to the chain system," Lorne was saying as he fumbled with a key in the bracelets at Sheppard's wrists. Two men caught and gently lowered him to the ground when the cuffs snapped open. Lorne started on Teyla next. "We couldn't open them without raising the chains," he finished.

"We are grateful for release," Teyla soothed as Lorne sounded genuinely angry at himself for causing his people to dangle.

When he at last reached Rodney, he seemed to be allowing himself to feel relieved. "You OK, Dr. McKay?"

"Of course," Rodney snapped. "Just tell your people to be careful. I suspect Sheppard's shoulder was dislocated before he was hauled into the air this last time. He needs immediate medical attention."

Lorne's lips twitched, but he apparently decided to go for polite. Or at least understanding. "Med team is waiting at the entrance to the prison. The path is clear to the stargate. We had a hell of a time finding this place."

"Obviously. Eight hours of time to be precise. Eight hours too many, in fact."

"Rodney!" Teyla snapped for the third time that day and Rodney realized that Lorne was glaring daggers and fidgeting with the P-90 on his chest. Rodney snapped his mouth shut, realizing that anything that came out would be provocative in his current state.

Instead of biting back, though, Lorne glanced at Sheppard, took a deep breath as if gathering patience and said simply, "You're welcome, Dr. McKay."

Rodney was so surprised, that it took him whole walk to the Stargate for him to figure out who must have taught Lorne to say something like that.

* * *

Sheppard was pretty beat up. His shoulder was dislocated as Rodney had suspected and he was covered in welts, cuts and bruises that, while not life-threatening, were overwhelmingly painful. The first two times Rodney visited, he was sleeping off high doses of pain-killers to get through the day, Teyla had said.

On the third day, Sheppard was finally awake and looking like he wasn't sure he wanted to be if the squirming and chuffing were any indication.

"Hello," Rodney said, then stopped, not knowing how to continue.

"Hi," Sheppard grunted in reply and went awkwardly silent as well.

"Listen," Rodney began, but Sheppard interrupted.

"It was nothing, OK? It's my job to protect you, remember? Don't worry about it."

Rodney raised an eyebrow, surprised that, this time, Sheppard had guessed Rodney's thoughts wrong. He filed away the fact then continued with what he was going to say. "I was going to say that we've had a couple leads on Ford but I wanted you to know there's no rush. We've seen evidence of his appearance but he's long gone. I didn't want you to jump out of bed on rumors before you're, you know, _healthy_ and chase after him when we know he's not there."

"Oh. Thanks. For looking, I mean."

"It's my job remember?" Rodney replied sarcastically. Sheppard just nodded and squirmed through another wave of discomfort. "You were right."

"About what?"

"About Lorne. Coming. For us."

"Of course I was right."

"It's a maddening habit of yours."

"MM?"

"Being right about things. That's also my job and you keep encroaching on my territory."

"Sorry."

"No you're not. Why did the interrogator assume you'd talk if he whipped me?"

Sheppard rolled his eyes to give Rodney the "are you kidding me?" glare. Rodney returned it with dead sincerity. To his surprise, Sheppard grimaced and scrubbed at his hair, something Teyla said he did when he was self-conscious.

"He said that because. Um, because it's hard, you know, to watch."

Rodney cocked his head and stared back. _I'll be damned_ , he thought. "Harder to watch than to get hit yourself?"

"A lot harder."

"Speak for yourself," Rodney muttered, but he finally understood. And the understanding flooded him with a warmth he hadn't felt… ever. Sheppard _was_ his friend. And, like Rodney, he, too found it hard to care about people. Not because Sheppard was naturally narcissistic as Rodney was, but because he _wasn't._ Sheppard cared deeply, Rodney had observed. He just hadn't realized until that moment that he cared deeply about _him._

There was only one appropriate response. "Well, the next time you choose a beating over self-preservation – a mistake you will not find me making by the way – pass out a little sooner because this lying around healing thing is throwing our schedule way off. Now that we've got the ZPM, we've got multiple labs to clear for use and initialize. I do not find your rehabilitation convenient."

Stare. Smirk. Rodney grinned.

"Lorne is sending teams to clear the spaces so I'm not even involved. And if you linked the consoles in the new labs, you wouldn't have to initialize them individually, either. You don't need me, Rodney, so I don't buy your excuses."

"You can't link the consoles _until_ they're initialized," Rodney chuffed.

"You can if you power the labs remotely. Goodbye Rodney. I'm taking a nap now."

Rodney chuckled and left the infirmary. What did Sheppard know about Ancient consoles and lab computer networking? The man was a barrel of interesting BS. Just to prove that he was wrong, Rodney went straight to the control room to play around with remote access of the next lab on the list to initialize.

An hour later, he poked a few more keys and the consoles in a room halfway across the city glowed into life.

"I'll be damned."

* * *

Thank you to the SGA Fic Exchange for motivation to get at least an annual story out the door!


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